


in the mirror with your eyes wide

by thymia



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brutal Murder, Burns, Canon-Typical Violence, Corpse Desecration, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fire, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Heart Attacks, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentioned Floris | Fundy, Mentioned Karl Jacobs, Mentioned Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pain, Painkillers, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Violence, Scars, Swords, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, burn scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymia/pseuds/thymia
Summary: Fairly Graphic Violence. I don't go into deep, deep detail, but I do not sugar coat things. There is mention of self-mutilation/self-harm, accidental overdose, corpse desecration, unhealthy relationships, verbal abuse, and verbal humiliation, abusive/power tripping age differences. Alcohol abuse, major character death, physical pain, and trauma, scars, and wounds are described.Tubbo, Schlatt, and Quackity get murdered by firework rockets (So do unnamed members of a crowd), Wilbur Soot gets stabbed and bursts into flame, it's mentioned Fundy and Quackity get harmed by broken glass and hand to hand combat, Schlatt has a painful heart attack. The heart attack is described in the most detail.This is dark. Do Not read if you think it might upset you.[ Title from Woman (In Mirror) by La Dispute ]
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Jschlatt & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	in the mirror with your eyes wide

**Author's Note:**

> "Have you ever been in a mirror?" - TommyInnit.  
> This is sort of a diverging timeline/universe in regards to my series? Mainly because of Fundy, and the fact the series has a happy ending, this doesn't. Tommy/Tubbo are 16/17 respectively in this. Quackity is in his twenties, I don't detail Fundy's age particularly, he's legally an adult in this, while if I were to keep continuity with my previous fics then he'd be only 13/14 or so, and it doesn't really work.  
> I just love recurring motifs, and I keep thinking about 'It's You!' and 'Despite everything, it's still you.' from Undertale, so that's basically what this is, just schlatt finding tubbo looking at himself in the mirror over the years.  
> the worst crime here, i think, is the sloppy ending. i always struggle with concluding stories, woops.

It all started years ago, with The Rouge Test, as Phil had explained, passing the tube of lipstick to Schlatt. He was to put a little on Toby’s face and hold him by the mirror. It was to see if Toby could recognize that the little boy he saw in the glass was actually him. Toby was coming up on two years old and Tommy was around sixteen months so they figured they could try it on him too. Tommy, being only sixteen months old, did not recognize himself but that was fine, that was what Phil was expecting. It was enough to watch Toby and Schlatt bond over this.

Phil stood in the doorway, quietly watching as Schlatt laughed and cooed at his baby as Toby wiped at the red mark on his nose. “What _is_ that, huh,” He murmured, one hand on Toby’s back making sure the tot wouldn’t fall off the sink. “What do you see? ‘Ew’, is that ew? Here, you wanna wipe it off?” He chuckled, handing Toby a wet cloth that hung over the edge of the cauldron. “Good job! Good boy! You all done?” Toby smudged the rouge a bit before tossing the rag away and turned to fall into Schlatt’s chest.

Toby was around six when his horns finally started poking through his hair, and by then he wasn’t Toby anymore, he was Tubbo. That was because when he and Tommy were two or three, Tommy mispronounced his name as Tubbo instead of Toby and it just stuck ever since. Tubbo stood on a step stool in front of the mirror in Phil’s bathroom. He went in there with Tommy to wash his hands before dinner, Tommy came out but he hadn’t.

“What’s up, kiddo? You been in here a while.” Schlatt mused, poking his head in the doorway before stepping in when he noticed the troubled look on Tubbo’s face.

“Just…Looking, Papa..” Tubbo sighed, dropping a hand from one of the small horns on the top of his head.

“What do you see?” Schlatt asked quietly, stepping up behind Tubbo, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Uhh, us?” Tubbo answered, looking up at Schlatt with confusion swimming in those blue eyes of his.

“You know what I see,” He asked again, getting a quiet ‘uh-uh’ from Tubbo in response. He gently directed Tubbo’s gaze back to the mirror. “You’re right, I do see us. But I also see a troubled young lamb, confused and pained about his existence. Confused about why he has to hurt, pained because he wants to get rid of these. You can’t though, you know that. They’re full of blood, it’d hurt even more to try and get rid of them. You’ll grow into them, you’ll be even more handsome than you are already.” Schlatt rambles, hands moving to touch the horns in question. He speaks from experience, he knows how Tubbo feels. It’s why the end of his left horn was broken, as a child he took his father’s axe to himself, and almost bled out on the kitchen floor. It’s healed over the years, his horns aren’t alive anymore, they’d finished growing when he was in his twenties. But the proof of his pain remains.

“You’re not taking aspirin, are you?” Schlatt asked suddenly, parting Tubbo’s hair. His scalp was puffy and inflamed where the horns were coming in, but nearly as much as he would have expected.

“..Tommy gave me a few little white pills earlier... He said it'd help the hurt..” Tubbo mumbled, clearly ashamed of it.

“It’s okay, kid. He’s right, but you can’t take grown-up medicine, especially not that many,” He warned gently. Speaking from experience again, he remembers the time he threw up after taking an entire bottle of aspirin hoping it’d stop the ache in his skull. “C’mon now, dinner’s ready. You don’t wanna miss it, do you?” He said, stepping back as Tubbo hopped from the step stool and excitedly dragged his dad out to the living room, all upset forgotten.

Schlatt wouldn’t get another moment like this for years, he wouldn’t see Tubbo again until almost a decade later. He does grow into his horns, Schlatt finds. Granted they’re not big, stress stunts the growth, but they curve now, they’ll be around his ears by the time he’s twenty. He is handsome like Schlatt had predicted, nearly a man. Tubbo’s hair is shaggy and long, it almost reaches his shoulders, and he notices Tommy’s cut the rat tail and grown a mullet over the years. He still idolizes the pig, though he dons a suit just like Schlatt's own when he welcomes the man into the Dream SMP. Wilbur and Fundy are around too, Fundy is still small and wiley, still a boy in most regards. Legally an adult, mentally stunted and fragile though.

It’s hours before the festival, when he finds Tubbo preening in a mirror in a hallway of the White House. “Lookin’ good, should’ve went with a red tie. We could’ve matched then if you did.” Schlatt says, stepping up behind Tubbo. It’s awkward and he knows it, he doesn’t know how to behave around Tubbo anymore. The kid doesn’t know him, eight years apart have dulled the memories of their time together. It hurts, and often he thinks of the song Cat’s in the Cradle, and of how he opted to focus his life on his business rather than on raising his son. He can’t tell if it’s for the best or not, he’s president, he’s traded worn Timberlands and fraying flannels for polished dress shoes and perfectly tailored suits. But he also lost his son, and the friends he called family. He’s exiled them, Tommy and Wilbur, has Tubbo and Fundy stay back, they’re useful. And Phil isn’t around, probably still back at his homestead, and Schlatt wonders how he’s doing. How much Phil’s gotten done over the years, he had always wanted to create a sort of utopia.

“Yeh.. But I like green.” Tubbo said simply. It also hurts to hear that the kid’s picked up a British accent living with Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy for the past decade, it hurts that he can’t hear himself in his son. He can’t see himself either, not anymore anyway. He can’t see himself, proud and bold in the shy, quiet boy Tubbo has always been.

“That’s fine. It looks good on you,” Schlatt says, standing behind Tubbo and sets both hands on his shoulders, and he feels the muscles tense under the fabric of the suit. “What do you see?” And to Tubbo, this feels terribly familiar. He gets the worst sense of déjà vu, it’s almost dizzying.

“I-... I see Manberg’s secretary of state and its president?” He croaked out nervously, looking at Schlatt through the mirror.

“Yeah. True. You know what I see, though?” Schlatt asks, a grin spreading across his face.

“What?” Tubbo asks, turning his gaze back to himself in the mirror.

“I see a fine young ram. Full of promise and confidence. A young man, who could very well run this country on his own.” Schlatt said proudly but hating the way Tubbo’s face fell further.

“I don’t- I’m none of that Schlatt.. I know you’re just trying to hype me up for the festival later but…” He trailed off with a sigh.

And fuck did that hurt, hearing his son reject a few compliments so quickly. The rejection might also be because he caught Tubbo off guard, Tubbo probably wasn’t expecting the stern ruler that his father was to compliment him so freely. And Schlatt’s struck by the urge to not go through with his plan, he doesn’t want to hurt his son like that. He knows he has to teach him a lesson about loyalty and the kid had to have a life or two to spare.

“I am trying to hype you up, I want you proud and confident before you go out and give that speech,” He confirms, stepping back, lacing his hands behind his back. “Too bad you’re not my VP…” He muses quietly, hardly above a whisper as he leaves.

The festival goes well, for the most part. Techno cheats in hand-to-hand combat though Schlatt’s sure he doesn’t have to, he threatens to have him tested for drugs. The threat is weak and only driven by the whiskey in his belly as he’s sure Techno’s need to win against the fox was driven by the voices in his head. Ten years later and Techno still looks good, he doesn’t look like he’s aged a day, though that’s probably due to his weight, stocky and heavyset, though soft in the face. He has Techno come up on stage when the moment presents itself. He trusts Techno to take Tubbo out, he’s vicious and wild enough to do so without second thought. Right?

Wrong, because Techno starts crying when he gets in front of Tubbo, starts joking, it’s a coping mechanism anyone can see that. Schlatt returns the jokes, coping too, and Schlatt knows he starts crying at some point too. Big, fat tears, that sear his cheeks as they roll off and as he snarls for Technoblade to “MURDER HIM! RIGHT NOW! ON THIS FUCKING STAGE! AND MAKE IT HURT!” Techno just glances around, staring at the meager audience, muttering out short little, nervous ‘uh’s as Schlatt keeps insisting that he kill Tubbo.

The hurt and shock in Tubbo’s quiet voice as Techno loads three red, white, and blue roman candles into his crossbow. Techno pleads that he’ll make as painless and as colorful as possible, more jokes, because it hurts to kill a boy who’s basically his brother. But the president and the vice president are staring him down, and there’s a crowd behind him, it’s small but he hears them egging him on, at least one voice down there tells him to do it. And what feels like a trillion, in his head, they chant every obscenity in the book, every cut of lamb, and ‘ABRAHAM’ and ‘JFK’ echo in his thoughts. It doesn’t happen instantly; the first shot doesn’t kill Tubbo. So, he loads three more, and that does the job, Schlatt and Alex falling too. And Techno can’t help but cackle in mania, the voices are okay with three, but they demand more, so he swivels around and unloads 21 more rockets into the crowd. The last 12 rockets don’t hit anyone but that’s fine, the voices are satiated, the crowd’s gone, the president’s gone, Tubbo’s gone. Everyone’s gone.

The next day, Schlatt tears down the White House. He and Alex have an argument, a giant blowout. He didn’t know why the fucker thought they’d even work out . He’s twenty years younger than Schlatt. Their relationship initially started years ago, as some fucked up Stacy’s Mom shit where Alex had some twisted crush on him when Alex was fucking fourteen. And clearly, he’s pined after the older man for years. And Schlatt only cares about Alex’s ass. He mocks Alex the entire time, calling him ‘Flatty Patty’ just to make the kid insecure, mocks him for crying during the fight. Once Alex fires the arrow into Schlatt’s chest, killing him again, Alex storms off, finding comfort in a fucking sixteen-year-old. Schlatt comes back and finishes tearing down that ugly fucking building, pulls a couple blocks of emerald from his E-Chest and builds something new in its place. One sad little birch sapling stuck in a flower pot on a block with signs labeling it as ‘The Monument to Crying About It’.

The next time he sees Alex is to meet about some fucking hotel, he doesn’t sign the contract, tells them he knows about their plans and lies about bombing their own hideout before taking off. He hides out for the next month. His time is coming, he knows it, can feel it. It’s why he wished Tubbo was his VP, he lied about not wanting to rule beside him. He’d love nothing more than to spend four glorious years commanding a thriving country beside his son, but he knew his time was coming. He drinks too much, he doesn’t take his heart meds like he should, and would only wish that Tubbo take over his presidency when he passes, not Alex. That fucker would only ruin shit, Tubbo could do a good job and he knows it. Even if the kid was only seventeen, he could do a damn good job as president.

Schlatt’s burns haven’t healed well. Tubbo and Alex go to Dr. Ponk, and he gives them shitty oils that oddly enough seem to help, but Schlatt insists he's fine on his own. It’s been a month and they still haven’t healed like they should have; everything hurts. He keeps his hands wrapped up in bandages all the time, but he can hardly hold anything in them, let alone the patterned shield that… Green fucker, Dream? Whoever gave him, because there’s a war going on, and it’s to show what side he’s on. There’s a war going on, and it’s been a month exactly since the festival. And it’s his last day, he can feel it. He can’t participate in the war, he just can’t. He finds himself in the Camarvan, Wilbur and Tommy’s fucking drug RV. Dream fucking betrays him and leads everyone to him.

Everyone, the RV is packed, the air con is torn out of the ceiling so those who climbed on top of the vehicle could peer inside. They laugh and mock him. Schlatt’s blistered hands wrap around a dumbbell and a bottle of booze as he struggles to lift both. He only gets fifteen hammer curls in before he can’t lift his arm anymore, it only makes him feel worse. His heart strains as he huffs and puffs in pain and exhaustion. Someone shoves Fundy in through the hole in the ceiling and Schlatt’s drunken rage gets the best of him and starts attacking the poor young fox, sobbing, and slashing at him with a broken bottle. Quackity gets targeted too at some point, and Schlatt just mocks him as he shoves the kid into a corner of the RV. Wilbur demands his last words as Tommy holds a crossbow to his forehead. Schlatt has nothing to say, he just coughs and pants, his left arm aches, and he feels dizzy, and nauseous, and his chest feels tight, restricted like his heart is wrapped in twine, unable to beat freely. And then it doesn’t, and then he’s gone, and he doesn’t have to hear the shocked gasps as he collapses in a heap on the floor.

Until he’s back, in the damp, dark forest full of fir trees, the same place he spawned in the first time he came to this world. He’s not in his suit anymore, he doesn’t reek of alcohol either. He’s wearing that baby blue sweater of Will’s, and he’s got on his old Timbs again, and it feels perfect. It’s ironic, but in he feels alive in death, he doesn’t feel spritely or energetic, far from that actually. He feels like he could fall right back asleep. But his wounds have all healed. He’s covered in scars, but it doesn’t hurt to use his hands anymore. His heart doesn’t strain and ache, and he can breathe, even if he doesn’t have to, he finds a sort of peace in being able to take lungfuls of fresh, clean air. It’s a struggle to get back to familiar territory, but he does, walking along the Prime Path, he finds the stage in the middle of town. Tubbo’s behind the microphone, giving a speech, rambling on almost pointlessly. But it’s good, he sounds confident, he doesn’t sound nervous or afraid, and Glatt feels his heart swell with pride, not pain. The kid’s president apparently, Glatt doesn’t know how that works, but he’s happy with it. That’s what he wanted.

But L’Manberg could never have a happy ending. Schlatt knew that, he knew what Wilbur was planning. It wasn’t hyperbole when he said, ‘You know, if I die, this country goes down with me.’ minutes before he died. It’s shocking now though; Glatt is completely caught off guard when the explosions start. Everything shakes and the ground is torn apart from below. He’s grateful he can’t feel L'Manberg explode. He watches from a distance, he can’t hear what’s going on but in a small cavern stands Wilbur and Phil, Will’s shoving a sword into Phil’s hands. And then Phil’s blindly stabbing at Wilbur, Wilbur goes up in flames. He’s an inferno for roughly a second before Phil gets another hit on him and he’s ashes in the hole in the wall.

He stumbles back into L’Manberg’s limits a few days later and walks upon a funeral for him. It’s beautiful and dark, and there’s a big picture of him overlooking the seats. But as the portrait gets torn apart, he realizes it’s meant to degrade his life, not honor it. Alex had shifted to look like Schlatt, and it feels mocking. The kid could never get the faces right… They laugh and insult him, and he can see Tommy and Tubbo holding bones in their hands, Tommy holds two femurs, and it looks like Tubbo holds a humerus. And he realizes that those came from him, that they defiled his corpse and pulled out his bones, and bits, and organs. He watches in horror as Alex eats his heart, gloating and gleeful, utterly unaware of the spirit watching from a few feet away. But he finds when he wakes up the next day he can’t remember a thing about yesterday and that’s probably for the best.

He finds Tubbo once more, frowning as he stares himself down in the mirror. It’s early in the morning, he has to meet up with Alex, Fundy, and Ranboo to discuss their plans later. His dress shirt is unbuttoned as he glares at the thick, gnarled looking scars covering his chest. He got the worst of Techno’s hit being directly in front of him. But it mostly got his chest and his hands, since he shielded his face with his hands, but at least it meant his face was fine, he wasn’t disfigured.

Glatt sees Tubbo shudder first from the chill the spirit brings with him, and then the dread on his son’s face when he notices the pale hands on his shoulders. He couldn’t actually feel Schlatt touching him, it felt like his upper half was dunked in ice water but that was all, and that wasn’t too bad, sometimes he felt the searing, phantom pains of third-degree burns still, the cold was almost nice. And then there was recognition in Tubbo’s eyes, remembering the last time Schlatt approached him like this.

“Hi, Schlatt..” He whispered, craning his head back to look at Schlatt behind him. He looked like a trick of the light, hazy and not quite there. Haloed almost in the early morning light streaming through a window, like a Brocken spectre surrounded by a glory. Tubbo thought they might look like some portrait of Catholic saints, like the Mother of Sorrows holding her dying son. He doesn’t know why he thinks like that, he isn’t Catholic, Phil didn’t raise him like that. Schlatt was though, he filled the White House with Catholic idols and imagery. That’s probably where he got it from, Tubbo tells himself.

“What do you see?” Was all Schlatt said, all slow and sleepy, watching Tubbo turn his gaze back to the mirror.

“Us. L’Manberg’s president and the spirit of its former president. We look like that portrait you had in the Oval Office; we were standing just like this in that one.” He answered, not mentioning the religious connections he made. Schlatt would scold him for blasphemy surely.

“We are. You know what I see, though?” Glatt asked, gripping Tubbo a little tighter, and drew his gaze to the mirror as well.

Tubbo shook his head and whispered a quiet ‘What?’, wondering what Schlatt would tell him this time.

“I see a handsome young ram. I see L’Manberg’s youngest president, L’Manberg’s best president yet. A president not driven by power, but by love. Love for his citizens, love for his country. I see a young man full of love and pride, and he’s so handsome, you know that? You’ve grown to be such a kind, sweet, young man, and I’m so proud of you, kiddo. I wish I could’ve been there to see you grow up, it’s better like this though, I think. Phil raised you better than I ever could have. Wilbur and Techno too, you’ve had so many good influences, and role models in your life. I was never one of 'em, but I’m so happy you turned out the way you did.” Schlatt rambled, his milky white eyes wet and glassy with big blue tears but so full of pride.

It all clicks just then, everything forgotten over time, it all comes flooding back. Tubbo just turns and falls into the spirit. It felt like plummeting into a frozen lake but Schlatt was just barely there, not completely spiritual, ever so slightly corporeal still. “Papa…?” He asked, sobbing now as well as he peered up at the towering spirit.

“I’m sorry, Toby, I’m so sorry for everything I did to you..” Schlatt mumbled, leaning down to bump their foreheads together, horns bumping slightly. He couldn’t exactly remember everything; he felt the scars they shared were his fault and he knows he’s a bad man. He watched his own funeral, heard every disgusting thing said about him. But that isn’t him anymore, he thinks. He’s.. Glatt, not AliveSchlatt anymore.

He doesn’t remember the bad things everyone says he did. He remembered Tubbo and Tommy's childhood, being the one to see Tommy take his first step but keeping it to himself so Phil could experience it too. He remembered every word Techno ever said to him, every time the pig confided in him, the hours they'd spent talking about hobbies, fears, aspirations. He remembered his first day in this world, listening to Blocks with Tommy and building some stupid trap that everyone convinced Fundy to get into. He was kicked out of this world, he knew that, but he was back now, and he couldn’t remember why he was allowed back.

But he _was_ back, and that’s what mattered. Part of him wanted to try and redeem himself, a big part of him, really big, there was just a small part that wanted to say fuck it and fuck off into oblivion and never return. But he recognized that part as the part that drove the man he was before, when all he cared about was money, and power, and booze. He found a SchlattCoin in his pants pocket the other day. And that was enough for him, he found he didn’t care about its worth anymore. Not that there was any worth to a SchlattCoin anymore, the value tanked years ago, the small gold bit was worthless, just a memento now.

People seemed happier without AliveSchlatt around, L’Manberg is doing so much better, it’s beautiful now, it was all on stilts and it seemed like there were always paper lanterns in the air. Everyone seemed happier with Tubbo as president. Alex rediscovered love in his old middle school ‘boyfriends’. They’re fiancés now, all three of them. The Catholic in Glatt raged at that, in his Manberg polygamy was a crime, but it seemed to not be outlawed in Tubbo’s L’Manberg, or maybe they’ve found a loophole somewhere so they could wed eventually. Glatt knows vaguely that he was to wed Alex but can’t remember anything of their relationship. The boy is far too young for him to be interested anyway, it’s best he’s with men his own age, and not an aging alcoholic. 

Glatt wanted to be better, he didn’t want to drink or smoke, though he often felt the urge, the need for a cigarette, the desire to chug a bottle of whiskey. Ghostbur seemed to be getting along with people, they’ve talked too. They helped jog each other’s memory, often took naps on a big blue ram that Ghostbur insisted was the same one he had at Phil's, even though Friend had passed away years ago.

Apparently, though, Alivebur was just as bad as AliveSchlatt, and apparently, everyone hated him too, but people liked Ghostbur. Glatt didn't remember the Wilbur he exiled, the Wilbur who blew up Manberg and died at the hands of his own father. Glatt only remembered a talented musician, listening to every new song the man came up with, going to brand new worlds, and trying to survive some stupidly fun challenge Will came up with over the span of a weekend. Maybe people could like Glatt. Death, even if it left him drained and drowsy, seemed to treat him better than life, he felt free and ever so alive, and it seemed like it could be a new start. A chance to redeem himself.

“I love you so much, and I’m so proud of you Tubbo. And I’m sorry for everything I did, I’m sorry for hurting you, for abandoning you, for being such a shitty dad. I want to be better. I _will_ be better, for you.” He yawns, squeezing Tubbo tightly, the cold seeping into Tubbo’s bones and making him shudder. Glatt steps away, pale face stained a shimmering blue from his tears that continued to fall.

And all Tubbo can do is stare as the spirit flickers away, Glatt yawning, muttering about being better as he faded away. Tubbo wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He had to meet up with his cabinet, he turned back to his mirror and buttoned up his shirt before fixing the tie around his neck. As he pulled his suit jacket on and eyed himself in the mirror one last time before leaving, he noticed a small dandelion stuck in the fuzz behind his ear. Glatt must have done that and Tubbo just didn’t notice until now. He smiles as he plucks the weed from himself, sticking it instead in his breast pocket. Maybe Glatt wasn’t so bad, maybe Glatt was more like the man he had forgotten was his father, and less like the scornful president that he used to be. Maybe not yet, but maybe he could be.

He took a deep breath and smoothed his shirt out, and maybe someday he could come to see the same admirable young man that Glatt saw. For now, he had a meeting to attend to, he finally turned away from the mirror and went off, feeling significantly better than he did when he woke up. L'Manberg's history is littered with power-hungry men, and death but Tubbo hoped he could pave a way for a better L'Manberg, he hoped to raise the low bar for a good president in L'Manberg. Hope is what he planned to build his administration on. Hope for a better future for the country, for his citizens. 'I have to be better too. For him, for all of L'Manberg.', Tubbo thought to himself. He had an entire country counting on him, it was small but it was his, and he _was_ proud of it. 


End file.
